Accidents Happen
by CelticFire32
Summary: Kidnapped for five years. Father of one. Jack Hotchner is going to have some serious explaining to do.
1. Chapter 1

**random story...please tell me what you think!**

**dont own anything, as usual.**

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><p>(Jacks perspective)<p>

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><p>Holy crap.<p>

This isn't real, is it? I'm going to wake up, right?

Please?

There is absolutely no way that Charlotte, a girl who I barely even know, is sitting (well, sorta) in front of me, holding a piece of my DNA. Containing my chromosomes. My blood type. My genetic information.

(If you haven't guessed, its a baby.)

Charlotte had a baby.

Well, I knew that one. I spent the last fourteen hours next to her, and like any smart member of the male species, stayed close to her head while she shouted some very choice comments about what was going to happen to a certain part of my anatomy once she was finished.

But still. Charlotte had my baby.

My child.

God, what was dad going to think?

Okay, that last thought was idiotic. I haven't seen my father in five years. What would he care that the only two things I had accomplished in those years were learning to tie my shoes and get a girl pregnant?

Well, he may care a bit about the latter. If we ever get rescued, that's going to be an awkward conversation.

But he'll thrilled about my shoes. Really.

New born children really are quite...ugly aren't they? I really don't understand the way how people can go on about the beauty of a newborn whenever they're red, wrinkled, wailing and related. I mean, I don't want to be held responsible for that...that child. I guess.

"Jack Hotchner, you better start running," Charlotte gasped for air, her face sweaty. I wasn't sure about this whole childbirth thing. Honestly, it seemed a bit dodgy to me. Spend days in intense, painful labour, your body a mess of hormones to raise a child that will either get killed on a motorcycle or run off without your permission.

I would run rather a golden retriever or Labrador personally.

Of course, if Charlotte hears this, I will be subject to a slow,long and extremely painful death. She's been a bit...touchy lately.

Or last nine months.

Or four years.

But hey, who's counting, right?

"Come look at your daughter," she beckoned, her voice slightly softer as she peered down at the child, wrapped in an pillow case. It was letting down ear piercing cries, but I went over anyways.

"It's a girl?" I asked, incredulous "are you sure?" Charlotte rolled her eyes.

"I'm a farm kid Jack," she replied, an edge in her voice "Children are easier then cows."

"Right," I responded in a calm voice.

"You want to hold her?" before I knew it, the child was in my arms.

It amazed me how small a person could be. Her hair was an odd ginger, almost pink colour and her eyes mirrored mine-olive green finger with dark lashes.

And jeez, I wanted my dad to see her.

I wanted my father to see an accident child. Something that wasn't supposed to happen. A mistake. The result of what happens whenever two teenagers are held captive alone for five years, then get put in one room. All those raging hormones and such, and a desire for someone else.

Very bad combination.

The fact was, I wanted him to see my child. Part of me.

Shit. I, Jack Hotchner, seventeen years old, was a father.

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><p>They took the baby just after sunrise, by the way the shadows slanted through the doorway. He took the child, handed us a tray of mushy scrambled eggs, and left.<p>

We were both silent until Charlotte finally spoke.

"Think we'll ever see her again?" She sounded odd. I stared at the concert wall.

"No," I answered honestly. She nodded.

"Bye bye baby," she whispered, almost too low for me to hear.

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><p>(third person POV)<p>

"It's an outage!" J.J stormed around the bullpen, ranting. All Morgan, Reid and Garcia could do for survival was stay silent.

"How could people do this to a child?" She cried out "who could put a baby in...in a ditch?" She exhaled, then got a determined look on her face "I'm adopting that baby."

"What?" The team looked shocked.

"J.J...think rationally, okay?" Morgan said in a serious voice "you have Henry."

"Yah, I do!" She shouted "But baby Ashleigh needs a family. I'm sure Will would agree...he's always wanted another baby."

"The baby is at a local children's hospital," Garcia added in helpfully "there's applications you'll have to fill out-even then it's a long shot..."

"I know that Garcia," JJ sniped "but I'm getting that baby."

"You sure?" Reid asked finally "Ditch babies often have higher risks of fetal alcohol syndrome, a-" JJ stopped him.

"I don't care," she said simply "this struck a cord for me. I've wanted another baby for awhile. Everyone wins in this situation."

The group was silent.

"I'll get the forms for you JJ," Hotch said from behind them. She jumped guiltily. Children were a bit of a tough area for Hotch.

"Thank you sir."

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><p>Like any good computer hacker, Garcia quickly worked her way into the system of the children's hospital where baby Ashleigh (as she had been dubbed by the press) was recovering. Her chart was easy to understand-the baby was less then twelve hours old when discovered in a snow covered ditch in a garbage bag.<p>

She smiled at the pictures provided-the child was beautiful. JJ would be lucky to have her.

Suddenly her skin prickled as she stared into the eyes of the little girl.

There was something oddly familiar.

In less then two minutes, Garcia had gotten the genetic information the hospital had ran, and cross matched it, hardly daring to breathe. They had given up on Jack years and years ago...there wasn't anyway that somehow, Hotch's son could still be alive...

She gasped whenever the result came up.

Jack Hotchner was the father of this baby.

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><p><strong>Please tell me what you think! Hate? Love? Continue? <strong>

**Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

**so, since this suprisingly popular, i wrote another chpater! **

Please enjoy! Again i dont anything!

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><p>(Jack POV)I<p>

I was twelve hewhenever I was kidnapped.

Woah, big word!

It was a bit ironic that my father spent his whole life fighting against the 'monsters' only for his son to become a victim. Sorta sad too.

Anyways, I had been thirteen when I was taken. I was a good kid-pulled high enough marks, did my homework, kept my room clean. By then dad had remarried-some cow named Dorothy, who I hated with a passion. At my age, I was rebelling, the begin of adolescence and what better target then my step mother, right? In hindsight, she wasn't that awful, but could have been a heck of a lot better to. Besides, she didn't like me. She actually wanted to send me to a boarding school, but dad refused.

I played hockey, goalie, and probably could have made minors, if not the NHL. Now, I was a bit out of shape...being locked Ina room for five years does that to a person.

It was Brian who kidnapped me, a family friend through hockey. They all arranged it-they called dad into work while I was on the ice, and he asked if Brian would give me a drive. We carpooled with Craig, his son sometimes, and it wouldn't be the first time he had to leave in the middle of a game.

What dad didn't realize was that the people had paid Brain $20,000 in cash to bring me to the parking lot, and hand me over in a blue minivan. I saw the roll of money, and he had apologized as the door slammed, two masked men holding me back.

They used chloroform to knock me out, which is the most clichéd thing ever. Like, where does someone even get chloroform? Wasn't it the pioneer type of anesthetic? This was definitely a sophisticated kidnapping and they use...

Chloroform?

Seriously?

Anyways, I don't remember the turns we made, because I was knocked out obviously. Whenever I took up, it was pouring rain, and we were still driving. I was hungry, cold and desperately needed to use the washroom. The terrain was unfamiliar and we were the only car for miles.

In summary, my situation sucked.

When we finally pulled into some lonely lane, we drove for kilometers longer, until a small hunting cabin came into sight. I was chloroformed again, and when I woke up again, I was in a small room, oddly enough on the top floor, with a slated roof and large gable.

It was a nice enough room, painted a pale yellow with wide oak hardwood. The window seat was wide and comfortable, with an amazing view of thick forest and rolling mountains. In the corner was a small bed covered in thick handmade quilts, a small desk and dresser, all matching. Considering I was kidnapped, it was pretty good. I mean, I even got an ensuite! Life was good.

They brought food three times a day, and even let me go outside after a few months, but just for a few minutes. Sometimes with meals they included books and school materials. I spent most of my time doing lessons, creative writing or jogging around my room for exercise. Out of three novels I had completed, they had gotten a real copy of one printed for me.

Charlotte came about a year after me. There was a small hole in the wall, big enough for one to put his ear to. We weren't sure if we were allowed to talk, so we waited until it was dark. From there, we spoke for hours at a time, mostly when we got older. Charlotte was a farm kid, middle child of seven and grew up booting around Holstein's. She loved mac'n'cheese, Nickelback, and her family's French Canadian Christmas traditions, hated spiders, and math of any kind. She grew up running barefoot with her six brothers and many cousins, waking up early to do chores and going to school with a group of kids that she had known her whole life.

I was sorry that they took that away from her.

But I was unbelievably grateful that they gave me her.

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><p>(3rd person POV)<p>

A copy of 'Outrunning the Storm' lay in a dusty bookshop, just outside of Edinburgh. Emily Prentiss smiled to herself as she picked it up and looked it over. It had been published a few years back, never really becoming popular. She tucked it under her arm. Why not, it was just a pound after all.

The UK had called her back. She wasn't really sure what caused her to board the plane, but she did anyways. After wandering around England a good long while, she had finally found a job as a middle school teacher in a tiny town in Scotland.

She paid with another smile to the teenager behind the counter and hurried home to her flat, made a cup of tea, curled up in her favourite chair and began reading.

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><p>Garcia was stunned.<p>

Like, fall on the floor, complete and utter shock stunned.

Like have a heart attack stunned.

She took several deep breaths, staring at her keyboard, debating. Tell Hotch? Tell Jennifer? Tell somebody, like the police? Keep quiet? Go hide in a broom closest?

The latter was surprisingly appealing right now.

She recomposed herself. It only made sense to try and find out who the mother was. She quickly cross matched, thanking her lucky stars for DNA testing. Of she could determine the mum, she could maybe isolate where Jack could be.

She swore when the results came up.

Charlotte Lefebvre had been eleven when she seemingly disappeared out of thin air, ten months after Jack. She had last been seen near the family's pond on their farm in Wisconsin. The cause of death was a speculated drowning.

However, she obviously wasn't dead.

Well, hadn't been for the last nine months and a couple days.

And apparently, neither was Jack.

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><p>(Jack POV)<p>

I was doing pushups whenever the door creaked open. The man stood there, holding Charlotte roughly. She was having a miserable time, all crying me and hormonal. Thankfully the woman had helped her quite a bit.

I sorta got the feeling she wasn't exactly fond of me right now.

I stood up, staring at Charlotte. This was the third time I had ever seen her.

Something was definitely wrong.

"I'm so sorry," Charlotte whimpered to me.

"For what?" I asked, bewildered "Charlotte?"

That was the last time I ever spoke to Charlotte again.

**so what do you think? Please review and thanks for reading! **

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**Only one more day! **


	3. Chapter 3

Now iI know that I haven't updated this story in forever...I'm sorry!

Please review and thank you to those you have. It makes my day, honestly!

Thanks for reading!

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><p>Hotch?" Garcia winced at her voice, the papers she had printed still warm in her hand "Sir?"<p>

"What is it?" He sounded broken, staring at his framed picture of Haley and Jack. They had put a headstone in the graveyard for his son next to his wife's marker.

He visited both every week.

Garcia hesitated and Hotch slipped into his thoughts again.

Jack.

Haley.

Dorothy.

The name of his second wife spent a wave of unexpected anger so strong that his hands started shaking.

He supposed the divorce was his fault. After all, it was his obsession with finding his son. She, on the other hand, hasn't even seemed affected by it. All she ever spoke about was having a baby. That was all she wanted.

Hotch wasn't sure why he was so bitter about this.

He didn't like how she had treated Jack, like he was just some piece of baggage along for the ride. She had suggested, more then once, sending him to a boarding school in Canada. Dorothy had claimed all sorts of excuses, education and sports, the usual crap.

He had ignored her, of course. After Haley, there was no way that he would ever send his son away voluntarily. Jack was everything to him.

He was his son.

Hotch had long concluded that family and parental connections were the both curses and blessings. You put two people, who may or may not be compatible, and they make the ultimate decision-to raise a child. They may fail or succeed.

But in most cases, they still love the child.

Well, in most relationships. Then you get the serial killer variety and it kind of screws up your perspective.

It was very strange.

"Hotch?" Garcia sounded odd, her voice detached and monotone. Careful. Like she was restraining every emotion and only letting words through.

One could only do that as a choice.

Now he was curious.

"I already said you could come in, Garcia." Hotch sighed, tearing his eyes away from the photograph.

Well, curiousness mixed the stress of having a five year cold case weighing down on your shoulders.

Garcia flattered.

"I'm sorry that I bothered you sir," she squeaked, speed walking back to her liar, leaving Hotch utterly bewildered.

She slammed the door and rested her head in her hand at her desk. She was a coward.

But there was no way she could give him false hope.

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><p>JJ asked Will what he thought about adoption of the baby, afraid. She knew that statistics. Chances were against little baby Ashleigh. The mother was probably some teenage stoner who had drunk and did drugs. She probably gave birth in some alleyway or something.<p>

She knew it was a long shot with her husband.

He probably wouldn't go for it. JJ could almost feel her hopes dropping.

Will asked two questions.

1) What colour did she want the nursery?

2) Could they go shopping for cribs tomorrow?

JJ just about cried and began the paperwork.

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><p>Emily Prentiss was in Europe.<p>

She checked her globe just to make sure.

She was most definitely, undoubtedly across the Atlantic.

So why did she get goosebumps from reading an obscure story?

She could only think of one thing while reading it.

Jack.

Why did one novel that she just happened to pick up in a shop and read make her think of her former boss's dead son?

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><p>"The body of a young woman was found in a ditch, close to where baby Ashleigh was found. Oddly enough, the woman had no identification and nobody has come forward to claim her. Even stranger, she appears to have given birth recently, within the past 48 hours, however, no baby was found. Local authorities are trying to determine whether the two dumpings are connected. They are also asking for anyone with information to come forward. The woman is described to be between 15 and 18 years of age, 5.7 and approximately 110 pounds, with red hair, blue eyes and freckles and a birthmark on her left forearm.<p>

" She had a note clutched in her hand as well, bearing the words 'June' 'Wisconsin' and 'Dorothy'. Again, anyone with information is asked to contact local authorities... "

They killed her.

They killed Charlotte.

**So what did everuone think? Sorry its a bit rushed! Please review! **


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